Learning Experiences

I looked up from my checklist to see a 20-foot wall of flame and smoke coming at me very rapidly. The only good thing was I would be taking off into the wind. Five years earlier, this old dirt and grass road near the settlement of Rogersburg, Wash., was used as an airstrip. When ownership changed from private to the BLM, the airstrip closed. It took five years of negotiating with the feds, including Congressional, AOPA and EAA involvement, to get back part-time use. This dirt and grass strip is 1550 feet long at 850 feet msl and parallels the Snake River. Shortly after BLM again allowed access, we got permission to mow it. Two friends used their Super Cub to fly in a brand-new lawn mower and I brought a weed-whacker. I parked my 172 at the end of the strip, in front of the Super Cub.

In February 2009, I flew from my home base at the non-towered airport (X04) in Apopka, Fla., to Kissimmee, Fla. (ISM), to meet some friends and then head off to a nearby airport nearby for lunch. This is something we have done pretty much every Friday for years with the same bunch of guys. This day started out as every Friday had for years but didn’t end that way.

There I was, a cocky preppy with an airplane, trying to get home after a week at the beach. I’d flown a borrowed Skyhawk about 3.5 hours since full tanks, leaving me about 1.5 to dry ones. It was Sunday and the weather sucked. I could get out fine with an IFR clearance, but the beach-side airport where I landed had no fuel.Remember how the IFR alternate rules work when filing a flight plan? If the destination airport TAF or area forecast, within an hour either side of your ETA, advertises less than a 2000-foot ceiling and three statute miles, you need to file an alternate airport in your flight plan. In turn, that alternate airport has to have a forecast of 600/2 for precision approaches or 800/2 for non-precision. No problem. My destination was advertising something like 1500/5. I could get there VFR, but I had to file an alternate.

There I was, a cocky preppy with an airplane, trying to get home after a week at the beach. I’d flown a borrowed Skyhawk about 3.5 hours since full tanks, leaving me about 1.5 to dry ones. It was Sunday and the weather sucked. I could get out fine with an IFR clearance, but the beach-side airport where I landed had no fuel.Remember how the IFR alternate rules work when filing a flight plan? If the destination airport TAF or area forecast, within an hour either side of your ETA, advertises less than a 2000-foot ceiling and three statute miles, you need to file an alternate airport in your flight plan. In turn, that alternate airport has to have a forecast of 600/2 for precision approaches or 800/2 for non-precision. No problem. My destination was advertising something like 1500/5. I could get there VFR, but I had to file an alternate.

My experience took place in July 2007. It involved me and some friends on a long VFR cross-country flight from Leonardstown, Md., to Vero Beach, Fla., in my Piper Archer.

Briefing a passenger, as the FARs require, can be as elaborate as an airline-style event or as simple as, “Don’t touch anything.” Somewhere between the two extremes is the happy medium many of us employ when flying with non-pilots. I recently learned the hard way how presuming a person who is competent outside the airplane isn’t necessarily as good as when seated in it. I also have to share some blame for this event.

I got the telephone call all of us dread: My mother had just been hospitalized and wasn’t expected to live out the day. It came as I was in the middle of tackling some must-do, employment-related work from which I simply couldn’t walk away. By the time I finished, it was late in the day. The hospital was some 600 nm away, in a rural Southern town, albeit one with a well-equipped airport. After a quick call to Flight Service to check weather and file IFR, I was out the door. Soon, I was airborne, southeast-bound and headed into a typical summer evening, with pop-up thunderstorms in all quadrants. By the time I started letting down, my cockpit-mounted Nexrad display was painting a red splotch just beyond my destination.

One sunny, spring day several years ago, I was out flying with a friend. He was a little rusty, so we picked a quiet, non-towered field for some pattern work. He was in the left seat of the borrowed Skyhawk; I was in the right. My friend was doing okay with the pattern work, although his landings needed work. We were attempting to polish them up when he dropped in the airplane from about 10 feet. It didn’t bounce, there were no “uh-oh” noises and we exited the runway normally, taxiing back for another one while I coached him.

When we launched my Mooney from Lakewood, N.J., for a fuel stop in South Carolina—before continuing to Key West—there was a 400-foot ceiling with light rain. The surface temperature was above freezing, though, and as we broke out on top without any icing issues, I began to settle in for the four-hour flight. Within a few minutes, however, problems started cropping up. First, there was a subtle change in the quality of ATC communications. Next, the autopilot refused to engage. My passenger’s headset was no longer functioning. Then, the communication and navigation systems failed. We were on top of widespread IMC with no way to communicate or get down.

Our primary training accomplishes many things. It helps us explore the many things we need to know to safely operate an aircraft, gives us the opportunity to develop previously unknown skills and teaches us how to perform simple tasks. By the time we earn a pilot certificate, many abnormal or emergency situations should be second nature, something I learned the hard way.